The Last Page
by PeaceLoveAndCheese
Summary: We all cried when the angel took Amy and Rory from the Doctor. But I think that Steven Moffat left out that last page of the script that gave us all our angst fix. Major angst warning.


**So... I found this sitting around in my files and since I haven't updated anything this week, enjoy this little bit of angst and feels and goodness!**

**Written in approximately five-ten minutes while I was still angsting out over The Angels Take Manhattan, so if it sucks, well then, tell me that. Or not. I really don't care.**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm not as evil as Moffat. Therefore, I do not own. End of story.**

* * *

He watched in horror as Amy vanished before his eyes, an angel reaching out it's hand, touching air, touching empty space. Horrible, terrifying empty space. A space that was immediately dug into his hearts.

He found himself on his knees, still staring, shell-shocked, at the angel who had taken his best friends away from him. Which was lucky, because it probably kept him alive.

He could feel River taking his arm, leading him back into the TARDIS. The rest of his senses seemed to be cut off, locking him into his mind. Into his grief. His sight was marred by the tears that he refused to let fall, his hearing impaired by the roar of shock in his ears.

He knew he had entered the TARDIS when the familiar hum spread through his mind, intensified to a wail. He screwed his eyes shut in pain, the combined inner sobbing of the both of them too much to bare. Because the Angels had not only taken Manhattan. They had taken Amy and Rory. They had taken the Doctor.

He felt River lower him down onto the stairs, not trusting him to stand on his own, which was smart of her, because at that moment his legs felt brittle and wobbly, like his supports had been kicked out from under him. He felt the dematerialization sequence start up, River purposely leaving the brakes on to give him some form of comfort.

He didn't know where they were going. He didn't really care.

The next thing he knew, they were in the vortex. His time sense buzzed, telling him how much time had passed, but he ignored it. Time didn't matter anymore, when there was no time left for The Girl Who Waited and The Last Centurion. Now that they were gone.

"River. They were your parents. Sorry. I didn't even think."

"Doesn't matter," River said curtly.

"Course it matters," he replied, half to himself.

She looked him full in the face. "What matters is this, Doctor. Don't travel alone."

He looked back at her, eyes filled with pleading. "Travel with me then."

She winced inwardly, knowing that he would never look at her the same as long as he was grieving her parents. And made a decision. "Whenever and wherever you want. But not all the time."

The slight hope he had gained so far in this conversation died with those words. He didn't even hear the rest of her sentence.

She asked him questions and he answered numbly, not paying much attention until River told him that she would have Amy write an Afterword.

_Afterword._

"The last page," he breathed and he found himself starting the TARDIS back up, heading back to New York, halfway through the vortex before he felt guilty. He had just left River, didn't even know where she was now. At that moment, however, he found that he didn't really care.

And then he was out of his ship and running, running like they were by his side, running to them before they faded. And they had faded. But not quite.

The basket and blanket were right where they had left them. A scrap of paper was peeking out from amongst the food, corner flapping in the wind.

He snatched the paper up and began to walk away, because there was nothing left for him there. An empty basket, a crumpled blanket, and too many memories for him to bare. His feet led him to a stone bench, which he sank down upon, eyes pouring over the words that she had written, with her love, back in a place and time he could never reach, no matter how fast he ran. Because he hadn't ran fast enough to save them.

And he memorized the words, committed them to memory and seared them into his mind so brightly that they flared even when he closed his eyes. If he did, he could almost feel them sitting beside him, Amy taking his hand, her head on his shoulder and Rory smiling his half-smile. And he leaned in, welcomed their embrace.

Why it was called the Afterword, he didn't know, because there would never be an after the Ponds. Never again. He wouldn't. He _wouldn't._

And Amy's final words blurred on the page as he read the end. The end. The end of the Ponds, the end of the running, the end of it all.

And the Doctor placed his face into his hands and wept.

* * *

**...**

**What do I do to myself?**

**Well, for those of you who liked that, review! For those of you who didn't... meh, I don't really care. That was my emptying of the feels so I don't do that in my actual writing.**

**But hey, might as well post stuff, right?**

**Even though this is soooooooo late. You probably aren't even interested in this anymore.**

**Anyway, review!**


End file.
